


for him.

by moonlighted



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Spideypool - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 17:18:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7516612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlighted/pseuds/moonlighted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wade thinks Peter is asleep, and confesses his true feelings. (As it so turns out, Peter isn't really asleep, and feels the same way.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fluffy little one-shot I found in my notes. Thought I'd post it.

Wade did not know how to begin.

Light shone down among the two of them, bleeding in through the swaying curtains. The two of them, wrapped around each other, a tangle of limbs and hearts and an abundance of faith. There was the noise of humanity, the sound of everyone bustling around, of tires dragging across road, of breaths and sobs and shouts and _people_. A life belonged to each and every sound. 

All Wade could hear was the sound of Peter's breath.

A gentle touch on the arm. Hesitant; the fear of illusion, the fear that this was far too much beauty for Wade to have the privilege to behold. Then, it grew lax, a gentle grip. Grounded in the truth, in the knowledge that love was attainable to anyone. Even him. 

They were so close together. Their skin was touching, smooth, soft beauty against torn, agonizing roughness. It must've be such a contrast. Wade was just happy that it was his pain, his scars, and not Peter's. 

Wade had been taught stories of angels and demons for many years. He hadn't ever believed a single goddamn word of it. He still didn't. Peter was not an angel. They were creatures of perfection, of indifference. Peter was not perfect. He cared so much, about everyone, he had so much love to give. Wade was happy to have a fraction of it.  Often, he'd stutter and mumble, he'd kick Wade in his sleep, he'd get himself stuck to things, he'd get tangled in his web and sit there, laughing until Wade got him out.  

Peter was human. Desperately. There was so much hope left in him, that people were good, that everyone was capable of redemption. It was naive, but Wade never said that. Everyone needed their own way to reach absolution. Even Peter.

A small sigh, a change in position. Wade watched his bones shift, his muscles stretch; a long breath escaped him. It was the most beautiful sound in the world. 

Peter never made much noise. He was quiet, in every sense of the word. His touches were so light, so indistinct that Wade almost didn't feel them. And his words, fast but tranquil, dripping from his lips to Wade's heart, a sort of peace that Wade had never known before Peter.  Tall, but thin, always pressed against a wall, or Wade, or _something_ , as if he wanted to fade, to turn into a ghost and go far away. 

Wade always made sure Peter knew how much he loved him. 

He usually did most of the talking. It didn't mean much; just rambles and rants, full of non-sequiturs and uncontrollable thoughts. I love you so much. In every tangent he went off on, in every sentence he strung together, in every word he spoke, he made sure that those words were present. And he didn't have to say them, because Peter would know, he would know and he would smile, a small, shy thing, a tinge of red all over his face in little blotches. 

No matter what kind of day they were having. Whether it was good or bad. It was always the last thing Wade said to Peter if he was going somewhere else. Peter would always say it back. 

"I love you so much," Wade whispered. Peter still did not wake, his chest rising slowly, his heart steady. Wade continued anyway. Even the sleeping want to be loved. 

"I do not know what I did to deserve you. This — you, you are everything to me. And I know I don't rant about sappy shit a lot, even though I do slip it in there sometimes. But there are things that I will never understand about us, and I don't mind in the slightest. Why do you stay, Pete? There's a lot of beauty out there, even if it mixed in with the world's bullshit.

"Everyday you say you love me, and you love my scars. At first, I thought that was bad. Don't really know why. Probably because I didn't understand, I thought that my scars were horrible and disgusting, and how could anyone love them? How could you love them? 

"But then I saw your scars. There are just a few, littered over your chest and your torso. I stared at them. I fell in love. You blushed and looked away, trying to smile. It was at that moment that I understood.

"I don't think I'll ever love my scars. But I know you do. I know why you do. There are a lot of things I don't understand about us, Petey. I'm glad I have the honor of not understanding how love works with you. I love you so much. I love you so much."

A laugh, barely audible. Peter turned, there were tears in his eyes, and his mouth, curled into a smile. 

"Wade," he said. "I don't understand that much about us either. I've been afraid of this too."

"You have?" He sounded so small. 

Peter smiled. "I love your scars, Wade Wilson. I love when you wax poetics about me when you think I'm asleep. I love your hesitance. _I love you so much._ "

That was all Wade needed.


End file.
